A sump for my thoughts

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LIttle Things

After a trip out in the sun, everything on and around you is hot. The clothes, the metallic dial of the watch, the glasses, everything. Even the bag is hot to touch. When you reach inside the bag, and take out that cool book from inside, isn’t it simply the best feeling ever? It is to me. When I find something like this, a cool coverlet on my bed, on a hot afternoon, a warm pillow on winter nights, the pleasurable cool of the laptop that I have just taken out from the bag, it is just my favourite thing in the world.

I have never shared this with anyone before. I dont know how many, but I am sure most people would have noticed this phenomenon and like to some degree. As I was thinking about writing about this, I got to thinking of the aftermath.

Though I like this thing, more than anything in the world, I would never seek it. I would never go out of my way to make sure I encounter this thing. I mean, I flip my pillow just before sleeping to get the coolth out, but I would never put my clothes in the fridge just before wearing them on a summers day. It is just one of the those things, that you just smile when they happen, and move on.

But, now that I have made public my admiration for this little thing, every time I experience it, to whatever degree, I would HAVE to like it. I couldn’t be true to myself if I have said it is what I love, and then not like it when it happens. So when it does happen, how can I be sure that my smile is due to actual pleasure of the occasion or because I have to? The joy is somewhat diminished when I make public my pleasure, it seems. Making public, making superlative statements to the fact, impose a sort of burden on me, to enjoy it to that degree. The actual joy and the expected joy are now inseparable.

This does not happen all the time. There are some small things, whose qualities we tend to exaggerate in talking about them, then suffer from this burden of expectation. Dont get me wrong, the exaggeration is not always false. At that moment, we do feel that extraordinary amount of joy or bliss. But that the same degree or type of feeling will be replicated the next time or not, is not guaranteed. But the description, now on public record, binds us to seek out that particular type, whether it is there or not.

It is like we get caught up in our own words. And what are words? just words, right? But they do carry a burden.

I guess this is why some of us don’t like to talk a lot about small things.

post script: [4 days later…] : hmmph. Just as I thought, the joy of the the cool things on a hot day is a bit diminished. What for? Just words. Just words.